The black pool, whose darkness had touched Raeth.
It’s supposed to be lethal to touch the Living Night, he thought with worry, touching his cheek. Why am I still alive?
The men were looking at him, their eyes brightening with hope despite the situation. Raeth did a quick count. There were thirty of them, and none were High Aedin. About half were regular Aedin, mostly Amberite or Bestarin—the latter distinctified by the animal limbs that had been grafted onto their arms or legs. The rest were common soldiers—Shorriken, Kavir, or Mahallen. All of them looked to him with expectation.
“We need to get to the Sending platform,” Raeth said. “People will gather there. Hopefully, some Vo-Dari survived this mess.”
The men nodded eagerly.
“Who’s in charge?” Raeth asked.
The men regarded each other. Eventually, a Bestarin man with a large bear’s claw for a left arm stepped forward. “I suppose I am now, your highness.”
“Form two squads of six unwounded men who can move quickly. Send them down side streets as we retreat, looking for survivors or other pockets of resistance. Fall back immediately if you see even a single dark warrior. Do not engage unless someone’s life is at stake.”
“Yes, sir!” the man said with a salute of his human hand. He moved off, calling names, and soon the group was retreating backward, toward the outskirts of the city.
#
D’Naa passed groups of frightened people, searching frantically for signs of Hlin or Shaad. Many of the stragglers warned her to turn back, speaking of dark monsters, and several tried to pull her with them. She wiggled free from their grasp each time, instead pushing forward, despite her increasing fear. The dark, crumbling city was difficult to navigate—she wasn’t even certain how to get back to the courtyard. At first, she followed the people and the yells, but both soon trickled off.
Blessed D’Lum, creator of all, D’Naa thought with horror as a chill wind blew through a cracked building. What is going on here?
She had to fight hard to keep herself going. The screams of fear, the chaos—it was all so reminiscent of shadowed memories from her past. A city burning, people dying, barbarian raiders bellowing in the night… .
She turned a corner, and her eyes fell upon several familiar archways. The courtyard. She took a cautious step forward, but then paused. It was dark—the Corpate lights had all been extinguished. And, it seemed as if the darkness were moving. Undulating, various depths of the void pulsing with blackness.
Several pieces of the blackness broke from the mass and began to move toward her. D’Naa took a step backward, her eyes widening, her already nervous heart beating even more tensely. Her only light was the overturned remnants of a burning cart, but its illumination was poor. For some reason the shadows seemed to be pushing back the light, rather than the other way around. Several of them resolved into pools of walking blackness, man-shaped and carrying swords.
The lead creature approached slowly. Its dark body didn’t reflect light—it was almost more like a patch of darkness than a physical thing. She could hear its footsteps, however, and she doubted the sword was just for show. The creature raised its weapon, stepping forward ominously.
D’Naa yelped and raised her hand in a quick motion. Her Aether surged with power, forming a small ball of vines in her palm. With a flip of her wrist, she hurled the ball at the dark creature. As soon as the ball of Verdant connected, it exploded with life, vines whipping outward and curling around the creature’s body. The thing froze mid-step, rocked slightly, then fell to the side without a sound, the vines completely constricting its body.
D’Naa fell back, fear numbing her body, her Aether pulsing in anticipation. Its vines began to expand, tips of green peaking out of both of her sleeves and tickling the sides of her feet.
Blessed D’Lum, she thought with horror. There are hundreds of them! She could make out the courtyard a little better now—what she had assumed was pulsing was just the shifting of hundreds upon hundreds of dark creatures.
Suddenly, the warriors before her began to run, barreling down on her. D’Naa cried out in surprise, raising both hands before herself and releasing her Aether. There was no subtlety in this attack, no precisely placed ball of Verdant. Vines exploded from her arms, ripping both of her sleeves in their fury and they struck forward. Her Verdant split into dozens of green lines, slamming forward in waves of foliage to enwrap everything before her.
Six dark forms dropped to the ground, completely wrapped in vines. The ends of the vines snipped free from her arms, dropping to the ground but leaving her forearms covered with small spiderwebs of ivy. D’Naa could feel her Aether puffing—it was tired, but excited. She rarely let it loose with such fury.
More dark forms broke off form the mass, coming at her. She shot one final look at the courtyard—her grandparents couldn’t be in there. They had to have escaped. She turned around and began to dash back the way she had come.
#
By the time Raeth reached the edge of the city, his group had swelled from thirty to several hundred, including soldiers, merchants, and citizens. He moved the group in a direct line out of the city—he had to find out what was going on outside before he gave any thought to rescue attempts. As they moved, they passed an alarming number of bodies—most of them civilians, their corpses ripped and torn by sword blades. Raeth ordered each one checked for life, and they carried what living they found, but it appeared that the dark warriors had been disturbingly thorough in their slaughter.
They avoided the soldiers, Raeth realized with a sinking feeling. They barely paid me any heed, even though I was standing next to their pool. They wanted the civilians. This wasn’t just an attack—it was a massacre.
The people let out a cry of joy when they reached the edge of the buildings. It was a small victory, but at least the city was behind them. Raeth scanned the dark landscape hopefully.
“There,” Darro said with relief, pointing to mass of lights in the distance. “The Sending platform.”
Raeth nodded thankfully. “Let’s move,” he told the people. “Keep close to our light and stay alert—there could be things hiding in that darkness.”
They didn’t need to be told. The people huddled together around their makeshift torches, soldiers standing warily at the perimeter. They struck out into the darkness, leaving the city and its nightmarish shadows behind. Their progress was agonizingly slow, but Raeth kept the people moving, and the Sending platform approached steadily.
Unfortunately, when they arrived they found nearly as much chaos as they had left behind. Wounded moaned and moved limply, senators argued loudly about what to do, and, worst of all, there were no Vo-Dari. Raeth searched fruitlessly through the mass for signs of a white robe, anger and frustration gnawing at him. Without Vo-Dari, there was no Sending. Without the Sending, they were doomed.
The people of his group quickly melded with those standing or laying around the platform, looking for loved ones and friends. There were about a thousand people gathered beside the platform—a third of the number that regularly attended Saedin. Many of them were wounded. None sat on the platform itself—a tradition maintained to prevent accidents with the Sending—but instead huddled around the eight Corpate lighting and heating pillars that surrounded the platform.
Raeth’s soldiers stayed where they were, standing alertly around him, waiting for guidance. He heard the word ‘prince’ muttered through the crowd, and soon most faces were looking at him, their eyes hopeful.
“My lord prince,” Laene said, approaching. “Blessed be the Ancestors that you survived.”
Raeth nodded curtly to the overweight senator, counting faces. It appeared that all of the Senators had made it, which was fortunate. The creatures had ignored them, going for the Emperor instead.
“Has anyone seen my brother?” he asked hopefully, scanning the group of High Aedin.
The men looked at one another, most shaking their heads. Raeth sighed. Where was Hern? Flaw
ed as he was, the people needed his leadership.
“My lord, what about your father?” Laene asked.
The people nearby grew quiet, their faces turning toward Raeth.
“Emperor Vaetayn is dead,” Raeth announced.
The words left a wake of stunned eyes as they moved through the crowd. Vaetayn had been emperor for over twenty years. Raeth gritted his teeth. They were just going to learn how to live without his father’s guidance. “How many soldiers do we have?” he asked, turning eyes toward a small group of generals that stood beside the Senators.
A soldier in the brown cloak of the Bestarin Line stepped forward. His left hand ended in a large owl’s claw, and his left eye was oversized and inhuman. “We have about three hundred trained men, your highness,” the general said. “A third of which are wounded.”
“High Aedin?” Raeth asked.
“About a hundred, my lord,” the general explained, “not including Senators or the elderly. Only half of those have any battle experience, though.”
Raeth nodded. Most High Aedin, powerful or not, did not spend any time fighting on the northern border. Only Sworded were required to fight—most Shaeth learned to use their Aethers only for show. Of course, when one could encase oneself in Amberite or throw dozens of vines from one’s arms, military training wasn’t always necessary.
Raeth took a deep breath, trying to push back his fear. The people looked up at him in the unwavering Corpate light, their eyes frightened. They expected him to save them somehow.
“We only have one hope,” Raeth said, speaking softly enough that only the Senators and generals could hear him. “Maybe there’s a Vo-Dari alive in that city somewhere.”
The Senators looked at each other with apprehension. There had been several Vo-Dari at the festival, but their part in the ceremonies had granted them a privileged place in the crowd. Raeth could remember where they had been standing during the executions—in a small group at the front of the crowd. Right beside the pool. It wasn’t much of a surprise that none of them had made it back to the platform.
“And, how do we go about finding a Vo-Dari, my lord… ?” Laene asked slowly, his eyes doubtful.
Raeth turned back toward the city. Only patches of it were lit, and that light wavered fitfully. There had to be people still trapped in side, either hiding or wounded. If one was a Vo-Dari… .
Raeth caught a reflection of light to the side—a gleam in the darkness. Something large and metallic.
“What is that?” he asked slowly.
The lead general looked up. “A Corpate walker, my Lord,” he replied. “The Senators escaped on it.”
And left my father to die, Raeth thought with a frown. His eyes flickered to the side, noting the Corpate lighting pillars, an idea forming in his mind.
“General… .” he said, groping for the man’s name.
The general frowned, his oversized owl’s eye slightly confused. “My Lord?”
“Your name, general,” Raeth requested.
“Taenen, my lord. You know that.”
Raeth paused. I do? he thought with confusion. When have I met this man?
“Lord Hern!” a voice called from the side. Raeth looked up eagerly. His brother had arrived?
Then he paused. The man who had spoken was a soldier, pointing to a small group of refugees leaving the city. He wasn’t talking about Hern, he was talking to Hern. Or, at least, he thought he was.
Raeth looked down with alarm. His cloak, and the clasp that proclaimed his line and birth, had been ripped free. They thought he was Hern.
Raeth opened his mouth to speak, but a hand fell on his shoulder. “Hern,” Darro said, “can I speak with you for a moment?”
Raeth turned with confusion. There was no way that Darro… . Raeth frowned slightly. There was a look of poorly-veiled urgency in Darro’s eyes. He had never been very good at lying.
Raeth let Darro pull him aside. “What is this?” Raeth hissed.
“I saw Hern fall, Raeth,” Darro whispered back. “I thought you saw it too. A group of the dark men took him down.”
Raeth froze, a pit forming in his stomach. He had never gotten along with Hern, but still…to lose one’s father and one’s twin in the same day… .
“Raeth,” Darro said quietly, “these men don’t need a Dari right now. They need a Shaeth, a leader. They think their Imperial Heir is going to save them—what will happen if you tell them that Hern’s dead?”
Raeth paused, turning eyes back on the masses huddled around the platform. The people, the mighty and powerful of Aedinor, were now little more than a scraggly bunch of refugees. Their faces were dull and shocked, their bodies weak. Yet, there was a faint sheen of hope in their eyes. They were looking to Raeth and the Senators like children to their parents.
Raeth cursed quietly. “You’re going to get me into trouble again, Darro,” he warned.
Darro smiled, clasping Raeth on the back. “Not this time, my brother.”
“There will be outrage when they find I’m not Hern,” Raeth warned. “I cannot do the things he can.”
“Given the choice,” Darro said, “I’d rather have you.”
Raeth doubted the Senators would see it that way. I could be executed for falsifying Line and Place, he thought. The masses of worried people remained prominent in his sight, however.
I can tell them after we get back to the city, Raeth thought. With the chaos and confusion of this battle, I can claim that I didn’t realize they thought I was Hern.
He gritted his teeth against the deception and turned back to his ragged group of advisors. “General Taenen,” he said. “I want fifty unwounded men and that Corpate walker ready to move out within five minutes.”
“Yes, sir,” the owl-eyed man said with a firm nod.
#
D’Naa scrambled through the ruined city. Everywhere she went she found bodies—most of them looked like they had been cut down in the middle of fleeing. She did see some living, but they scrambled away from her in fear as soon as they heard her coming.
Before long she was thoroughly lost. She ground her teeth in anxiety and frustration, climbing over rubble and wandering down broken streets. She was forced to run from the creatures twice more, but both times her Aether was enough to stop the pursuit. It was growing tired, however—she’d rarely taxed it so much. Even back in Kavir, it had been necessary to keep her Bond hidden, lest dangerous rumors get back to the High Aedin.
Light. D’Naa paused, crouching beside a dark wall. The darkness, the fear, the hiding… . Harrmen slaughtering… . She had been through this before.
Focus, D’Naa, she told herself, forcing herself to creep forward, toward the source of light. She peeked around a corner, and was surprised by the familiar sight. It was the bride’s tent, still sitting placidly, glowing from inner lanternlight, the nervous guard out front.
D’Naa shook her head with amazement, her body untensing slightly in relief. It was good to see life again, even if it was the other brides. The luck of those women was amazing—she had found a group of noblemen slaughtered just two streets over.
D’Naa pulled back, glancing down at her hands, which were covered with small growing vines. She couldn’t let them see her Aether—even her life wasn’t worth risking her people’s security. She ordered the vines back, and they obeyed, growing brittle and breaking off. The larger vines—except for the immobile ring of Verdant around her wrist—pulled back along her arm, hiding beneath her shredded sleeves. Then, gritting her teeth, D’Naa grabbed a rock from the ground and scraped it against her skin. She had to justify the torn sleeves somehow. One final touch—that of wrapping a bandage-like piece of cloth around her wrist to hide the Aether—and she was satisfied.
She dropped the rock with a thud, and the soldier perked up apprehensively. He held his hand forward, his Verdant vines wiggling. He was only a regular Aedin—his vines would probably be weak compared to hers—but he would still be able to trip or disarm with them.
D’Naa stumbled out into the light, and the guard immediately relaxed. “You!” he said with relief. “What’s going on?” Only then did he notice her torn sleeves and scraped arms. “My lady…” he said with alarm.
“We’re under attack,” she said, hurrying forward. “We need to get out of this city.”
The guard fidgeted uncomfortably, turning eyes toward the tent. “Lady Alean says we need to stay.”
D’Naa frowned. However, it was time to be practical, not political, and so she simply stepped forward and pushed open the tent flaps. Several of the women jumped at the motion, turning frightened eyes toward her. Yet, despite their fear, they still all sat in their places.
Blessed D’Lum, these women are complacent! D’Naa thought with a frown. “We need to go,” she said simply. “Something’s happened.”
Alean did not turn to meet D’Naa’s eyes. “We are required to wait,” she said with her aristocratic Aedin accent. “The Emperor will send men to protect us if he thinks we are in danger.”
“The Emperor is probably dead,” D’Naa snapped in frustration. Several of the other women’s eyes grew wide with horror, and the Shorriken bride began to whisper a quiet prayer to the Ancestors.
Probably not the most diplomatic thing to say, D’Naa thought with chagrin. The women looked scared enough without her random speculation. Still, anything that got them moving… . Her people had never been known for their diplomacy anyway—one of the reasons they didn’t get along with Aedin.
“The entire courtyard is covered in darkness,” D’Naa explained. “I don’t know what happened to those Corpate lights, but they aren’t working anymore. There are some sort of dark creatures stalking the city.”
Kallana’s eyes opened wide with terror. “Monsters?” she asked quietly.
The word made the other women even more nervous. Eventually, Alean frowned and turned critical eyes toward D’Naa. Alean studied her in the lanternlight, noting her torn sleeves, then finally she frowned. “Perhaps we should see what is taking so long,” she admitted.
Nahan snorted, her Mahallen eyes dissatisfied as she stood. “Whatever it is, I’m not waiting here for it.”
The Aether of Night Page 8